The Song of Wandering Aengus
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"The Song of Wandering Aengus" is a poem by W. B. Yeats.
The last stanza reads:
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
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See also
- Silver Apples of the Moon (1967) by Morton Subotnick.
- The Golden Apples of the Sun
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